Book One: A Start to Live
by Tirison
Summary: So many dreams, so many wants; So many to begin with. It's not easy to choose, but you must choose. In the end, the path of your life starts the moment you decide what are you going to do. Sandor/OC [Previously titled Crossing Path; edited on 22/04/2019]
1. A Brother

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Game of Thrones TV show nor the book franchise.**_

 _ **Note: Edited on 20/04/19**_

 _ **Enjoy!**_

* * *

 **A BROTHER**

* * *

 _ **Power.**_

 _Everyone in the world wants it, power. And not little this men and women sacrifice their body and soul, that wasn't even theirs. They are willingly losing owned and loved ones, just to get holds of this invisible winning._

 _So what is a power? Why people are easily blinded by this victory? What is the importance?_

 _Power itself is quite… powerful. A liberty of needs and wants. Of such a great freedom of control on what you need, what you want, and neither, and actually make it happen. Power can be beautiful and dangerous, depends on what shall come out of your rare tongue and what shall resulted. Power can make the ones harnessing it be beautiful and loved by the people who hears blissfully and follows. At a time, power can, too, make the ones consuming it be dangerous and hated by those who listens carefully and decides. Importance, yes. Power is very important. It is a way to gain trust of others and get them stand next to you. Or make them. Just simply, make yourself look taller and bigger in status than everyone else standing below. In a world full of different state of minds, being a threat always helpful._

 _A second series of questions come out. What exactly have to do to own this incredible society control?_

 _Strength. Use strength to win you a power. Earn the way to the top of the chain by the tip of silver sword. That is if you stand at the right side of the blade. Of course the risk. But win and names shall emerge gloriously._

 _Wealth, if you have enough gold and other rich to buy King's Landing, which who knows the price attached. Who knows if it works, and no one will know apparently. Even Lannister doesn't seem to put a bet on the choice. Perhaps, if you want to feel heroic, pay someone for killing. Easier win, less risky, same glory._

 _A third series of questi—_

"Brother, what are you reading?" Walking in a deep voice of a big brother, startled him a little bit of guard. "What is that? History reading?"

"N-not history. Just some parchment I found—"

"Do you want to play Sword and Shield with me? Outside?" he cut him off uninterestedly.

"I might want to. I am just to—"

"Say none. Come now!" by a grab, the big brother pulled him up and dragged him to the outside. Sandor sighed, exhausted and defeated.

The game, Sword and Shield, was just a kid's game of two knights with limited weapon duel each other for a win. For Sandor, it was utterly stupid and wasting time. For Gregor, it was more than just a game. It was a way to prove his father that he was strong and capable. That being said, Gregor took the play more seriously, to the point of seriously hurting Sandor. With all muscle contracted, Gregor the Swordsman took a giant swing directly hitting Sandor's body, just connected to the left rib. Another connected to his right thigh.

"Ugh… Yield, I yield!" Sandor fell down, groaning and clutching his body in utter pain. Gregor laughed, stepping his right foot on top of the fallen enemy's shoulder and feast his victory over Sandor the Shielding. Soon after, Gregor felt bored and left him for another entertainment.

A game was more than just a game. A hit was more than just a hit. An ugly purple bruise was more than just a bruise. Bruises had their own story to tell. Alas, Sandor had lots of untold story, each from different games. Sandor found himself limping weakly to his bedroom. Sandor sat down on his bed, slowly taking of his linen shirt. He winched when he felt incredible amount of pain on the bruise when he lifted his arms. He shook his hand and continued to undress carefully. Because of his stories on his body, he had an ointment on sight.

Somehow, young Sandor was used to an aggressive affectionate brother of his. At least that was what he was told by Father. Maybe it was, but he never felt the affection whenever he interacted with Gregor. Mother mentioned a brotherly love, but Sandor neither felt that. At one point Sandor didn't know who lied and who just couldn't see straight. And even if he eventually knew, it would not change anything.

Speaking of a mother, Lady Clegane just walked into his room with some laundry. She smiled at first, but when she noticed a horrible bruise on her son's skin her smile faded slightly. "My, Sandor, what happened to you?" she walked up and sat down next to him. Without any words, Sandor rasied his left arm so his mother could spread the ointment across the purple skin. "Gregor, wasn't it? I saw you two out playing. I didn't see what happened but it was Gregor."

The last part was more of a statement than a question. Sandor reluctantly nodded. "But it doesn't hurt much now—OW mother!"

"Unfortunately it still does," Lady Clegane gently wrapped a soft cloth around his body to pad the bruise and covered it better. She spoke up. "I've talked to Gregor so many times about using his strength while playing. But he is... easily excited. I am sorry, Sandor."

"I understand. It is never your fault, mother." Sandor smiled to her, though it still hurt.

"Do you feel better now?"

"Much better. Thank you, mother. Although I feel slightly tired."

"Of course. Go get some nap for few hours. I will wake you when it is dinner."

Before mother could reach the door, Sandor was sleeping already.

 **...**

The Clegane's Keep was merely a small patch of land for House Clegane, with a simple stone house to live in, as an honor given from the previous Lannister. It was small compared to the lion's den, but it was big enough to keep a family of four, with enough fields for stables and livestock.

Sandor found himself feeding the chickens, simply throwing grains to the ground as they ran for it eagerly. His bruise was healing quite nicely. But still he wouldn't be allowed to do heavier activities just yet, such as bathing the horses, cutting woods, or playing with Gregor. Mother had talked to Gregor about his current condition and fortunately he listened, for now. Instead, Gregor was now training swords with Ilyn Payne, another vassal boy of Lannister, and a dear friend of Clegane. Good thing, the Payne was visiting at the very moment, enough for distraction.

He had to admit it was weird to stand at the other side of the view. For every day Sandor was beaten, battered, and bruised by Gregor, it was odd to have a few days off about it. It was even odder to see Gregor assaulted Ilyn instead. The look on his face when the wooden sword stung his body was a reminder of what himself would look like. Gods, he looked horribly wronged.

"My body hurts so much!" Ilyn finally leashed out complaints after he entered Sandor's room. He immediately lifted his shirt to see scars and bruises decorated his back. He frowned and flinched at the same time when he pressed a finger to one. "My Gods, help me now."

"Do you want an ointment for it? I have it, here."

"Yes, please?" Ilyn nodded and took off his shirt as Sandor walked to the drawer to take his medical kit. Ilyn sat down facing his back to him. Sandor did the work. "Do you want to be maester, Sandor?"

"No. Never," Sandor answered, "why?"

"I meant, you have prepared this ointment, bandages, and all this remedy," Ilyn grabbed several small bottles containing what looked like medicine syrup. He looked around and spotted more bottles lining up near his desk. "You even have bottles of Milk of a Poppy."

Instead, Sandor laughed and shook his head. "No, you stupid. I don't want to be a maester. I want to be a knight—"

"Ouch Sandor!"

Sandor laughed again when he intentionally poked a fresh red scar to jolt him. Ilyn groaned in pain, but soon laughed as well. "How was your training with Gregor?"

"I know you might take your big brother's side, but please don't spread to him," Ilyn huffed and lumped his body slightly. "But he is just the worst to practice with. He is big and fierce and strong, and unstoppably cruel for his age."

"Unstoppable?"

"Unstoppably. He is a scary kid. Training with him feels like I am a northerner being hunted by a wildling."

"I feel you, Ilyn," Sandor told him, "which is why I have this medical stuff at the first place."

Ilyn didn't realize it at first. When he did, he abruptly turned around to face him. "Gregor hurts you all the time?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I train with him all the time."

"But why? Why not some butcher's boy?"

"There are no butcher's boys nearby, you silly. My father is always needed with the Lannister. And I would never ask my mother to spar with me."

"But why just can't you say no?"

"He _is_ Gregor. He does what he wants," Sandor shrugged and stood up. He lifted his shirt to show him numerous of scars and a mark of a beating all across his body. "This is why I have those medical things."

"Gods, what happened to you, friend?"

"Life. Just life."

 **...**

The Payne had left with something attached. Lord Clegane had come home with something to tell.

The small family had a little of habit to do together. But when it came down for dinner, all members were already seated on their given chairs. Father and Gregor always sat on one side of the table together opposing mother and Sandor on the other side.

"My sons, I want you to listen to me. I got big news!"

"What's the news, Father?" exclaimed Gregor.

"There will be held at Harrenhal, a tourney—"

"A tourney? When?! I want to watch the tourney. Are we going to go there?"

Hearing the enthusiastic future knight, Lord Clegane laughed. "Dear son, how are you supposed to know if you keep cutting me off?" Gregor just shook his head excitedly. "Thus, yes we will attend the tourney. You, Gregor, will be accompanying Lord Tywin as his squire. Remember Gregor, you have to behave like a knight, to impress him."

"Yes, of course Father. I'll be a knight. I'll be the strongest knight in Westeros!"

"Good, good. I believe in you, dear son."

And the dinner ended.

The next day, Sandor found himself at the stables, just wandered and wondered.

As a second son, Sandor was expected to match his big brother, good grief if he did more. Gregor was big for his age. That alone was already an advantage for his future career to be a knight he always dreamed of. He was good with big swords and shields. His strength was dangerously amazing. His emotion was dangerously unstable. Even by now at the age of eleven he was signed as a squire to Lord Tywin Lannister, of his choosing. And so a question wondered along, just how to match all of those unpredicted values? So far, Sandor hadn't found the answer. He was just starting to doubt if there was any.

"Sandor, my son," Father appeared at the entrance of the building, "what are you doing here all by yourself?"

"Bathing the horses."

"Bathing the horses?"

"Yes."

"Without water and brush? What are you bathing them with?"

"I-uh," Sandor blinked and looked at his mother, "no, I am not bathing the horses. Sorry, Father."

Lord Clegane walked towards him, brushing his short brown hair almost resemblance to black. He took another hand on his cheek and lifted his face, only to meet a set of deep and confused brown eyes. "What's on your mind, my son?"

"I don't—know. I don't even know what is on my mind," then he asked unsure of himself, "the tourney, maybe?"

"What is it about the tourney that you may think of?"

"I've always wanted to go to a tourney."

"Tourney of Harrenhal said to be huge and extravagant. For months, Lord Whent has it all prepared in every detail possible. This shall be your first experience attending a tourney, Sandor. You should be excited."

"So I can come to the tourney?"

Hearing that made Lord Clegane frowned. "Did you think you are left behind?" he frowned even more so when he didn't answer. He kneeled down, with his young sweet face on the palm of her hands. "Answer me, boy; did you think you are not allowed to go to the tourney?"

"Y-yes, Father. I thought…," Sandor paused, "I thought you would only take Gregor because he is a squire to Lord Tywin. It is an important occasion for Gregor and for you, Father, and I don't want to ruin the moment."

"Oh Sandor," Lord Clegane cupped his cheek, caressing firmly and lovingly, "having you with us at the tourney will never ruin anyone's moment, Sandor."

"Not even Gregor's and yours?"

"Not even his. Not even mine. Not even yours."

Sandor blinked and found the tip of his shoes to be quite amusing. Somehow he felt embarrassed, having a short-minded thought in front of his clever father. But he gave him piece and relief to know he wouldn't be anyone's burden and actually can come to the tourney. He looked up to see Father smiling towards him and that alone made him blushed even more.

"I am sorry I made you feel left out. But I promise you, we are not leaving you. I am not," Father sighed and leaned his elbow his knee. "It's just, Gregor. He is a complicated boy. Which reminds me, how was your bruise? Is it a pain still?"

"Oh, no. I am healing. It doesn't hurt as much now—OW!"

"I think it still does, my son." Father laughed a little when he intentionally pressed the bruise with his thumb.

"Why are you and mother like to do that to me?" Sandor realized the same unpleasant action he received, but more curious about it.

"If you still feel an 'ouch' that means you are alright."

"But who taught you that?"

"I got the trick from my old friend," He shrugged and glanced at his innocent son. He couldn't help but load a chuckles seeing just how innocent he was. "Now. If you are not bathing anything, could you help me with the kitchen?"

Sandor raised both eyebrows in disbelieve. "You want me to cook?"

Seeing the expression of her little boy, he laughed and walked with him to the house. "Of course not, Sandor. I don't trust you with fire yet. The cabinet in there needs to be fixed."

"Oh I see," Sandor smiled and followed Lord Clegane out of the building, hand in hand. "Oh Father?"

"Yes Sandor?"

"Do you think I have a chance to be a squire? Like one Gregor has now? I've always wanted to be a knight, Father."

"Boy! Of course! Be a knight is everyone's opportunity. Although only some who is determined enough to stand still and make a good use of it, is considered worthy," Father added. "And I think my Sandor will be a great knight that protects anyone and keeps them safe."

"You think so, father?"

"I believe so, yes."

"Stronger than Gregor, perhaps?"

"Ye—err, don't need the rush, Sandor. Just practice for a bit more."

Oh how Sandor could agree on that part.


	2. A Young Lion

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Game of Thrones TV show nor the book franchise.**_

 _ **Enjoy!**_

* * *

 **A YOUNG LION**

* * *

More months had passed and the invitation to The Great Tourney of Harrenhal became more welcomed. People throughout the Seven Kingdoms talked about it, talked about what could happen. Who would come victorious? Who would win the melee brawl? Would House Hornscout live up to their names and win yet another glory in archery contest? Would Ser Barristan Selmy win the joust list once more? Or someone else should be standing instead? Who would be the Queen of Love and Beauty? Who would be there at the feast? King Aerys II? Targaryens? What about the Starks, Arryns, Baratheons, and many other great houses?

People asked and wandered, and only that, for those who would never witness the whole show.

The ride to Harrenhal took roughly about two weeks and more. The Clegane along with other vassals of House Lannister united their journey together. Following the path of the main road of The Westerlands, passing through Riverrun and The Trident, House Lannister and vassals marched bravely like a lion on a rampant. At times, they would make a camp and rest.

One time during the late camp, Sandor watched when The Lannister all exited the biggest tent there be, Lord Tywin was amongst them and the giant Clegane followed behind like a loyal dog, or a lost puppy. The maiden and servants were finished preparing a hot stew for a cold night. Sandor found himself standing on the line for delicious warmth. After so, he sat down near a tree, peacefully eating up. A young lad sat down next to him. To his surprise it was the young knight Jaime Lannister.

"My lord ser—"

"Your brother is my father's new squire, am I wrong?" Jamie started, cutting him off completely.

"He is. He is Gregor Clegane."

"How old is he?"

"Eleven."

"Eleven? Seven hells. Don't you think he is too big for his age, yeah?"

"He is."

"Yeah. I first met him few days ago, when talking with my father. He looked at me like was about to kill. He is scary; big and scary."

Sandor glanced at the big and scary kid who was now standing behind Lord Tywin holding what appears to be his sword. "I share a room with him since I was a baby. He still scares me. But you, my lord ser, will perhaps get used to it."

Jaime turned around, a huge handsome smirk played across his lips. "You are funny."

"Same to you, ser."

"Please, no need of that, just Jaime," he asked, corking his eyebrow slightly amused, "and how exactly am I being funny to you?"

Sandor tensed and swallowed any fluid to clean his throat. "Ehem, it is not usual for the son of Lord Lannister shares his story with a vassal boy."

"It is not usual either for the son of some vassal house lectures the son of Lord Lannister."

Sandor couldn't even hide his disappointed frown. Such disrespectful manner, father would be embarrassed. "I am sorry for my behavior, my lord ser. I didn't wish to offend at all."

"Whoa hey, you are still a young child," Jaime instead laughed and placed a hand on his shoulder, patting and squeezing him lightly. "No offense taken though. And please, drop the lord thing. It's getting ridiculous by the minute," he added, "Anyhow, the tourney is right in the corner. I am excited. Big day for me!"

"What will happen to you, my lor—Jaime?"

"Father said I would be serving as a kingsguard. Or so he told me."

"A Kingsguard?" it truly amazed him. "But I don't understand. Can someone be a kingsguard at your age?"

"Anything is possible. Look at your brother!" Jaime pointed out. "Enough of me now. You! Aren't you excited about the tourney?"

"I am," Sandor began, started to feel a bit of comfort. "I am quite nervous. I can't tell why."

"Oh yes Sandor, I felt the same way when I attended my first tourney, just around your age..." _oh, I thought he didn't know my name_ , Sandor thought as he went on about his story of his first tourney at Lannisport. Sandor patiently nodded and carefully listened more about Jaime, learned more about this handsome lad of Lannister; Jaime's first sword, Jaime's first hunt with his father, Jaime's first kill. Seven hells. The more stories he told, the more aware Sandor of the surroundings, the more aware he was to his life.

"Sandor?"

"Yes, my lor—I mean, Jamie?"

"Do you know how to use a sword?" the blond lord asked suddenly.

Sandor nodded, "I train a little. But not as good as you."

"Who are you training with?"

"My brother, mainly. And there is sometimes a friend, Ilyn from House Payne, whenever we see each other."

"Interesting," Jaime nodded, suddenly taking an interest of the said routine. "Good thing you have such brother to train with. I can't have a good spar with my siblings. Tyrion is small, far too small. And Cercei, she can't even let me touch her hair, let alone swinging my sword to her."

Good thing, he said.

 **...**

"Jaime?"

"Hm?"

"What exactly does my brother do, as a squire?" Sandor asked, watching the big boy walked just across, of course with Lord Tywin Lannister to lead him.

"Squiring him."

"Like, assisting him? Helping him counsel and battles?"

"Oh no, no. Not that kind of assistance. But mainly he will prepare tent and horses, care the laundry schedule, remind the maids for the lord's bath, fetch this fetch that; something like so, I suppose."

"Oh," Sandor couldn't help but cringe. Laundry schedule; that sounded all so wrong with Gregor in play. "But, will Gregor fight in a war for Lord Tywin?"

"Perhaps, when needed," Jaime shrugged. "I guess with that size and capability, he would be needed soon. Who knows? He will be definitely trained for that."

"I see." Sandor nodded and took a bite on his chicken. "I don't see the importance of a squire, to be honest."

"Shit position, it is. But every knight's journey starts with becoming a squire."

"So, who were you squiring for, Jaime? Before knighthood?"

"I am a squire for Barristan Selmy."

"You actually prepare bath for Ser Barristan?"

"Yes. I prepare bath, served him chicken soup he always likes, clean his armors. I did a lot of chores for him." Jaime told him, suddenly feeling a little bit of funny comfort about telling one of his weird times with Barristan Selmy, "And then I train with him a lot. I experience a lot of things. It makes me what I am now." He glanced at the young kid who was too busy thinking about many things. "Do you have any more questions, Sandor?" Jaime smirked and raised an eyebrow. "I can see clearly you are not done yet."

Hearing that Sandor smile slightly and shook his head. The two didn't talk much after so, because the march would begin again.

Sandor learned that they would arrive in less than three days and the current camp was possibly the last before Harrenhal. He also learned that his conversation with Jaime Lannister might have had already ended for the young lion was to go to King's Landing for his journey as a kingsguard.


	3. A Tourney

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Game of Thores TV show nor the book franchise.**_

 _ **Note: Revision on 18/04/19**_

 _ **Enjoy!**_

* * *

 **A TOURNEY**

* * *

Exquisite as always, the Castle of Harrenhal stood the tallest amongst buildings. Rumors were real, titles were proven. Castle of Harrenhal was by far the largest castle in Westeros, even greater than King's Landing. And now with the tourney at held, the city was filled with the sound of metal hitting metal, the smell of the most delicious ale—in which to Sandor was pretty disgusting—and the view of many banners and tents decorated the clear blue sky and the fresh green field.

Tourney of Harrenhal was as extravagant as Lord Whent could hold.

King Aerys II. The Lannister. The Stark. The Baratheon. The Tyrell. The Arryn. Countless highborn names sat down just few feet away from Sandor. Excited, he was more than excited. And when Lord Whent stepped on to the platform for the opening ceremony, he became nervous. _What if the tourney isn't as great as he expected? What if one of the tents breaks down and crushed the audience? What if the tent that breaks is the one on top of his head? What if an arrow misses the target and lands right between his eyes? What if—_

His thoughts were severely cut off with the sound of trumpets and music played loudly as if the last day. The opening ceremony had just started, introducing all the contestants for variety of contests.

After the ceremony ended, the first contest when on which was axe-throwing, which was not something interesting for Sandor. After two or three throw, Sandor decided to look around for other thing to do, before the main event, jousting. Behind the arena full of berserkers who wanted to win the gold, there was an area for more subtle entertainment such as puppet show, theatrical, and even some childhood games. There was also a replica of the tourney for children, in which kids could try to swing a sword or loose an arrow. Immediately he went there.

The first thing he saw was children, obviously. The second thing he saw was Gregor Clegane, stood tall in the middle of the children. Size wise, that was not right. He didn't belong there. The third thing he saw was Jaime Lannister, lecturing little children how to use a sword properly. Ah! It made sense now, a squire for the Lannister. Jaime was so talented and smooth with any swords; even he looked graceful with just a wooden sword. Sandor watched too much of Jaime that he accidentally crashed on someone's shoulder. Sandor lost his balance and embarrassingly fell.

"Oh, boy," the other person reached out for a hand. Sandor took it and got up, brushing off any dust on his pants. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I am fine. I-I'm so sorry, I didn't see where I was going."

"As did I. But quite alright, don't think about it," the older boy said. "What is your name? My name is Grayson."

"My name is Sandor."

"What are you looking for in here, the small arena I like to call it?"

"I do not know. I am just wandering around to see if there's anything I can do to amuse."

"The contest doesn't?"

"It is axe-throwing still."

"So?"

Sandor was about to answer how horribly boring the contest was, but he then realize of whom he was talking to which he had no clue. This boy could be a Whent. Wouldn't be so good to offend him already. Sandor was in the event as part of Lannisters Bannerman and he didn't want to make a bad first impression to someone. "It is a good contest but I am waiting for the jousting list."

"I see, your preference," the boy nodded and shrugged as if it didn't matter. "What about archery? Are you interested in archery?"

"Archery... My father told me the win is obvious. House Hornscout shall win again."

"Hornscout, huh? And you believe they will win at this tourney?"

"I'd like to believe so. People believe so. They are excelled archers, never miss a target, and surely never lose."

"Fair enough," Grayson nodded and stepped away, signaling Sandor to follow. "And yourself, have you ever used a bow and arrow before?"

"No, I have not. I preferred to use sword."

"Would you like to try the bow and arrow with me?" Grayson offered, "There's an archery range I'd like to go to. We still have quite time before the other contest starts."

Sandor didn't seem to mind. Besides he was looking for an amusement. It could be something new. Sandor nodded and walked with Grayson to the archer range, for children of course. "Hey Grayson?"

"Yes?"

"You've never told me your house name. I am a Clegane. Sandor Clegane. What is yours?"

Grayson smiled, fairly satisfied with the question. "I am Grayson Hornscout."

 _Oh..._

 **…**

Talking with Grayson was fun. For a moment Sandor actually had a pal around the same age, which was good. Even when Grayson was two years older than him, they had the same thoughts and minds. Grayson was considered handsome young lad, with his bushy brown hair, big blue eyes and smooth skin; and smart too. Grayson taught him many things, from advices to practices on how to shoot an arrow. Hornscout was said to be the best in archery. Ten year old Hornscout boy just prove it the other day.

The third day of the tourney, they met again. They decided to practice with another blade, the spear. Sandor once learn how to use a spear for hunting purpose. So the spear as a weapon of combat was new to both of them. But if that so, Grayson didn't show it. Grayson was very skilled with the long stick and the pointy end, it made Sandor rather self-caution about what he could actually do.

"Grayson? Grayson!" came a yelling voice of a girl from the crowd. She approached. "Grayson, I've been looking for you—oh hello there."

"H-hello," Sandor blinked and greeted quickly, not entirely sure what to say.

"Grayson, I've been looking for you since ages. The archery is about to start!"

"It is? I must have lost the track of time," Grayson then turned to Sandor. "I really want to watch the archery now, Sandor. My family is next. Would you like to come with us?"

Instead he shook his head. "I shall watch with my father. Perhaps we will see each other after."

"Sounds good. We will meet near the puppet show afterwards, how about that?"

"Yes, Grayson," Sandor smiled and nodded. "I wish your family good luck with the contest."

"Very kind of you, Sandor—"

"Hurry up Grayson!" the little girl turned her attention quickly to the lone boy before her, a shy smile gracefully set on her vibrant face. "Sandor, isn't it? It is nice meeting you here." with that the boy and girl disappeared between the crowds.

Sandor looked around the arena once more, before leaving for his father. The archery was about to start indeed. About time as he sat down, the trumpets blared out and one by one contestant entering the range. All twenty contestants lined up on their position, preparing their bow and arrow. In the middle of the all of that, stood out the most, a fan favorite.

"Look at that, Sandor! Lord Frank Hornscout, the best of the best. He proceeded a golden legacy and won four tourneys in a row."

"Amazing, Father! How can Hornscout keep winning the glory?"

"It is not about shooting archery, no. Many houses can do that well enough. It's their wit and will, that makes them glorious. I heard every Hornscout is trained every day, every hour, and every minute possible. They shoot after waking up, they shoot before going to bed," Father explained to him. "That kind of discipline is needed to make a good warrior."

Sandor's smiled lifted up even more as he remembered the story he was told just before. He whispered lightly and genuinely, "Like Grayson would be."

"Who, my son?"

"Oh. Grayson Hornscout, I met him earlier."

"Already making friends, I see? Good, son—oh, look! It's happening!"

The day was quite windy. Sandor could definitely tell a hundred yards target distance was going to be difficult to achieve, except for one and only Lord Frank Hornscout, the Golden Sniper. When the rest of the archers missed the red dot in the middle of a circular foamed fabric, Lord Hornscout already won in one attempt. After winning all six rounds with ease, Hornscout was proven to be the best in archery yet again. Rumors were real, titles were proven. Sandor watched the whole celebration as Lord Frank was standing tall in front the whole audience, as the people cheered in amusement. One section of the seats cheered a little too loud. Sandor looked as the family of Hornscout were yelling and singing, raising their big banners, wanted to be heard and seen. Sandor smiled when he caught Grayson in the middle of the mass, looking very pleased with himself as he proudly held his sigil high.

After the archery contest, the tourney was adjourned for two hours or so. The arena would be reconstructed for the next upcoming contest, the melee, and finally the jousting list. For the moment, crowds seized the opportunity to take a bigger picture of the Great Tourney of Harrenhal. Theatrical show started on one tent. Another musical barb began to play on the main hall. Feast and festive spread everywhere for an eye could see. Father had gone to find Gregor. He would never be forgotten. So Sandor took a second opportunity to wander around for another amusement.

He saw Grayson by the tent of the puppet show, true to his words. This time he was not alone. The young girl and some boys were also with him. Grayson finally noticed the lone boy, he called him out right away. "Sandor, over here!"

Yet Grayson approached him first.

"Grayson, congratulation for yet another incredible winning!"

"Thank you. We can't believe we won again," Grayson exclaimed happily, which make Sandor smiled in joy.

"I told you the winning is obvious."

"No it is not!" Grayson lightly pushed him and both of them laughed. "Sandor, would you like to meet some of my family? I was just talking with my cousins over there."

Sandor nodded eagerly and followed him to a table where a girl sat down eating her meal. Grayson frowned slightly.

"Wina, where did the twins go?"

"I am not sure, Uncle Frank called them."

"Oh Gods, I actually want to introduce you to my cousins, not to this poor girl—"

"Hey!"

"Well, no matter—Winona, please meet my new friend, Sandor, whom you've actually met briefly," then Grayson introduced his family to him. "This is my younger sister, Winona. She is actually the same age as you."

"I am Winona. I prefer to be called Wina," she told him and smiled. "Nice to meet you again, Sandor."

"As I am to you as well," Sandor returned the smiled and sat down with them.

"So where exactly are you from, Sandor?" Wina asked.

"I am from Clegane's Keep, near Lannisport."

"Lannisport? I have never been to. What is it like in there?" Grayson asked, this time finding interest in thing he didn't ask before.

Sandor merely shrugged his shoulder, "I don't know. Not much. Only some houses and workplaces and ships. It is a port, one of the biggest ports in Westeros. But that is it," he added, "Also no greens, no crops and livestock, only rocks and mining materials. Casterly Rock is the capital of mining industry and Lannisport supports the distribution."

"That is why people in the west always buy the stock of food from us," Wina remarked, a hint of pride along with, "you can never find the greenest and most fertile land other than The Reach. Stepping foot onto the land and you will smell the fresh flowers and steady soil—"

"And the fragrance of cow's brown shit."

"Language, Grayson! I am telling father!"

"No, you will not."

"Yes, I am—oh Grayson, Erac is calling out for you, there," Wina pointed to behind him, a young lad waving for them. "It is your cue."

"It is my cue. I am sorry Sandor, I'll be away for a bit. I promise I will be back," Grayson nodded and stepped out from the chair. "Don't worry, Wina here won't bite, will you Wina?"

Wina rolled her eyes just as Grayson left. Somehow, watching the siblings bickering in front of him got on his nerve, in a good way. He found it very amusing. This was something he could not do with Gregor, and wouldn't be able to. Bickering with Gregor would result something worse than word-wars.

"Sorry about Grayson. Sorry that you have to be stuck with him. He is such a strange boy."

"He is quite alright. I learned so much from him."

"Hopefully you learned the good thing of him," Wina suddenly smiled, "He is what he is."

"What is his cue for, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Oh, he is a squire for Lord Mace Tyrell."

"Squire? At ten years old?"

The girl simply shrugged. "Anything is possible."

Awfully quite after so. Sandor was left with a girl he had never met. Sandor was never been a talkative person, not even to boys. So right at the moment, he didn't know what to do. Maybe he did, but he just didn't have the courage to start.

After much contemplating, Sandor called her. "Wina?"

"Yes, Sandor."

"I j-just want to congratulate you and your family on winning the archery contest. Your house won again." Sandor started, trying so hard not to mess up his words in front of the lady.

"Thank you. I was nervous watching my uncle down there."

"Why were you nervous about? The chance is very obvious. Your uncle is known to be best archer in the seven kingdoms."

"I don't know. But, I mean, it takes only one arrow to miss. It could happen."

"But it didn't," Sandor told her. "My father told me a story of how Hornscout are always dedicated to what they do best, and have discipline when doing it. Which reminds me...," he paused again. Wina's eyes squinted in curiosity. "Is it true Hornscout are trained so hard? Like, they shoots arrow before going to bed, or after waking up?"

Hearing that Wina laughed, genuinely good laugh. Sandor could only laugh as well, suddenly felt more interest that before. She coughed slightly, getting out of her unlady-like manner. "My apology. But I've heard my friends asked that so many times."

"Is it true, then?"

"The before bed and after bed is false. That's just exaggeration," Wina told him, giggling in the process. "But a part of the rest, yes. Every child carrying Hornscout name or Hornscout blood shall be trained to be a great soldier and warrior. Our ancestor was a noble huntsman from the south. Our strength is known long time ago. And we intend to keep that strength within us. We are after all sworn swords to House Tyrell for centuries. Just like your family to the Lannister," she explained. "Not necessarily with archery, you know. Not all Hornscout has interest in bow and arrow. Grayson has no interest in bow and arrow at all. He wants to be a knight, riding mighty horses and swinging longswords."

"But I saw how Grayson worked with in archery. He even taught me to."

"I didn't say he couldn't," she grinned slightly, "He just doesn't like it as much."

"I see. Preference," Sandor nodded, obviously satisfied with a true story from a sufficient source. "And what about you? Are you interested in bow and arrow?"

Wina hummed slightly. "I've tries shooting arrows once or twice, but interested isn't the word I am looking for. Sometimes I took part in Grayson's training routine, but not really intensive," she told him. "What I'm trying to say is, I don't see it as a real future endeavors."

"I see," Sandor nodded. "I've never tried bow and arrow before. I only practice myself with swords or daggers. Well, that was until I met Grayson. Really, yesterday was my first time pulling a bowstring."

"First time ever? Really, Sandor?"

"Really, Wina."


	4. A Warning

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Game of Thrones TV show nor the book franchise. I only own my OCs (the Hornscout).**_

 _ **Note: Edited on 19/04/19**_

 _ **Enjoy!**_

* * *

 **A WARNING**

* * *

Finally, the tourney was over. The contests were finished, with a little scandalous twist. Prince Rhaegar Targaryen greatly defeated Ser Barristan Selmy, which put a shock to many faces. Those faces stilled, when Prince Rhaegar placed the blue flower on Lady Lyanna Stark's lap, naming her as Queen of Love and Beauty, when both man and woman were betrothed to another woman and man. Lord Baratheon was furious and Lady Martell was not pleased.

Sandor didn't know what was going on, politically. But certainly he discovered one thing; the journey to Harrenhal was never a regret of his life. He really enjoyed the intense tourney greatly. And he even had new friends.

Although the tourney was over, many houses didn't go back home until the next few days. The stages and the main arena were already set down, but the children's playground still stood. This time, several knights and great names like Ser Barristan Selmy were joining to share stories and experience to those future warriors of the Seven Kingdoms.

Sandor found himself in the middle of a spar with a boy from Dorne. After almost a month without proper training, he spent the time for a good use, for a fair spar; something he would never get at home. The Dorne boy looked nervous and Sandor seized the moment to take a swing on the leg and made him drop on his knee. Sandor smiled and raised his wooden sword, claiming a small victory.

"Sandor!"

He wasn't sure if the call was meant to be a question, or an angry statement. Coming from none other than Gregor, he could never distinguish the different.

"Yes Gregor?"

"Let's spar!" Gregor immediately snatched a wooden sword from the Dorne boy and already got into position. "I have been sick and tired behind those doors, I need fresh air."

Without warning, Gregor lunged, aiming directly to the head. Sandor gulped and took a swing to block. "Brother, I wasn't ready."

"You are now! Can't you see that I haven't been able to properly train?"

"N-no…"

"I need it one now!"

Gregor took another powerful swing. Sandor was able to block for the second time, but the wooden sword seemed to give up. Sandor's sword cracked and snapped in half. He widened his eyes just as Gregor went all out.

"Gregor, my sword—"

"I don't care! Take my sword!"

Sandor felt an immense amount of pain stung across his neck as the wood made a contact with the skin. A loud whack could be heard, as well as a cry for mercy. At this time the kids around were horrified enough to have a sense to leave. It was just the two of them now. Gregor raised his sword. _Gods, why does he have to be so angry all the time?_ With an uncomfortable position and uncomfortable pain in the neck, Sandor tried to block anything coming with his forearm.

But nothing came.

An arrow flew right above him from behind, hitting Gregor's hand. Gregor winched and instantly let go of the sword, letting it fall over the fallen brother. "Ack! What was that?!"

Sandor took a glimpse of the wooden arrow, familiar one. It was the same arrow he used when he was with Grayson the other day during the tourney. A blunt.

"Hey you big boy!" out of nowhere, Grayson appeared running towards the scene, looking so honorable and confident. "Why don't you seek someone on your own size?"

"And that someone is you? Ha! You are a pathetic joke to your own words."

"And you are a big of a cunt!"

"How dare you!" Gregor was about to charge to the smaller boy before another arrow hit his chest, poking him harshly. "What was that?! Come out, you filth!"

"What in Seven Hells is going on here?" Finally Ser Barristan came to stop the madness. The knight looked around the scene, trying to understand the situation. When he did, he barked. "You, big child. You, get out of here! Leave!"

Gregor was angry, Sandor didn't need to see twice to realize. Gregor glared at Grayson for a little longer, before took his eyes on him, eyes of fury and humiliation. Gregor snarled once more before strutted off the ground.

"What happened?" Ser Barristan asked one more. He reached out to Sandor who had been sitting on the grass looking so lost on thoughts. "Are you feeling alright, child? What is your name?"

"S-Sandor."

Sandor nodded and stood up. A sting of pain hit when he moved his neck. Ser Barristan placed his hand gently to examine the mark and bruise. "This may look horrible, but it can be heal. Here, use this lotion to cover the skin," Ser Barristan grabbed something under his dress and gave it to Sandor. He then turned to Grayson. "And you. I wish to speak with you."

Sandor watched as Grayson walked towards the man.

"Sandor! My Gods!" came another voice, rushing by his side. Wina stood by him, pointing her finger to his neck, "Good Gods what happened? I was with Grayson when he noticed that someone attacked you. Are you fine?"

"I guess so—" as Sandor turned to her, he noticed she was carrying a bow on her hand and a quiver of arrows attached on her back. A quiver full of blunt arrows. "It was you? Shooting the arrows? From where?"

Wina blushed slightly and nodded. Sandor was about to question more but failed miserably when he winched in pain. She flinched and immediately crawled down to the same height and sat next to him. "Your neck. It's marking red. Does it hurt?"

"It stings a lot. But Ser Barristan said it is healable. He gave me this to heal."

"Hopefully so. You should use the ointment quickly, before your bruise and cut got infected," Wina kneeled over to help Sandor sat up. "Do you need help with that?"

"No I'll be fine. Thank you, though."

Just then Grayson returned.

"Brother, what were you and Ser Barristan talking about? Are you alright? Are you in trouble?"

"Nothing, really. Me and Ser Barristan are best friends now!" Grayson widened his eyes and wiggled his eyebrows cheekily to Wina, which was enough to annoy her.

"It's not the time to jest, Grayson. Sandor is hurt and Ser Barristan was not very happy-looking with that incident."

"Calm down, sister! I am fine," Grayson laughed despite Wina's demand to tell him more about the conversation with Ser Barristan. Grayson then turned to Sandor. "Are you still breathing, Sandor?"

"Yes, I am still alive," Sandor smile. "Thank you, you two, for helping me."

"No problem, friend—who was that boy anyway? How dare he did that to you?" Grayson burst out, showing no sign of impressed.

"He dared because he is my older brother, Gregor."

"Oh, that's just worse," Grayson shook his head, still unimpressed. "With the act like that, he is just another cunt to me."

"Language, Grayson!"

"Sshh Wina. Don't you understand? I am not pleased."

"Uh, what's a cunt?" innocently Sandor asked, which made both Hornscout winced their eyes in disbelieve.

"Oh, look what you've done, Grayson! You just filth his mind." Wina rolled her eyes and shook her head.

" _A cunt_ ," Grayson started, ignoring his sister's glare, "has two meanings, Sandor. The first one is..." Grayson went on with his educative lesson to Sandor, just as Wina gave up and left them be. Oddly enough, Sandor was listening carefully.

 **...**

For many days during and after the tourney, strangers had been talking and playing together, sharing and learning from one another. And for Sandor, he learned so much more that he could count on, from someone he didn't expect to know.

Surely Sandor achieved so many things in one setting. And he was happy, more than happy that he found a new side of himself that he wouldn't have thought of having, behind the face of fear from the bigger Clegane, because he accidentally bumped onto a scrawny Hornscout boy.

Speaking of another Clegane, which led to another news Sandor was happy to face. Several significant Lannister would travel to King's Landing, including the young lion Jaime who just named Kingsguard; which meant Lord Tywin would also travel there, which meant Gregor would be gone for a while—which meant the fear would be overcome over the next few months. Thank the Gods.

"So when are you going home Sandor?" Wina asked. The two kids were wandering around, following the stream of the river.

"I am not quite sure, possibly tomorrow after lunch," he stated. "What about you? When are you going back to Steep Stone?"

"Our family will be visiting several town up north first before going home. In the next three days we will depart."

"I see."

"I think I haven't asked you before. Have you ever been to Steep Stone?"

Sandor shook his head. "I've been to the Reach for only a couple of days, to a small town on the border of Westerland. So no, I've never been to Steep Stone," he told her. "What is it like, Steep Stone?"

"It's alright. Not so lavish, unlike Tyrell. We're after all a small house, still," she told him. "But our place is pretty strategic, to say the least. We guard the pretty much the whole land on the eastern of The Reach. We have huge towers standing tall. We call 'em The Trunks. They are built to watch over the villagers, crops and field, and maybe the border line as well, from outside threat."

"The Trunks…" Sandor began to create a picture of the description. He could see green grass all around, with The Trunks towering above anything else; and couple of Hornscout men on top of the tower, arms ready with bow and arrow. "It sounds like a nice place."

"Oh, it is," she nodded, satisfied. "What about yours? Clegane's Keep?"

"What about it?"

"Why, tell me about it," she beamed. "Tell me something other than it is your home and it's located in Westerland."

Sandor thought about it for a moment, about his home; looking for something, or anything interesting about his beloved keep.

"I'm being honest with you, Wina. Clegane's Keep is not catching anyone's attention. It's small, compare to yours. Unlike Steep Stone that locates near a civilization, Clegane's Keep was set on top a lone hill. The nearest town would be an hour away. Very unnoticeable, easily slipped right off your mind."

"Oh stop it, Clegane. Your house is just as noble as mine," Wina countered. "We both have great role to the big houses. You for the Lannisters and me for the Tyrells. Eventually, we are just the same, you know that."

"True, I think so," Sandor nodded. "But still, Clegane's Keep has nothing to offer."

"Well, it's up to you, anyway—hey Sandor?" Wina called him. He turned and bobbed his head slightly. "What do you usually do when you're at home?"

"Nothing that I do really entertaining. I often practice some swords routine with my father or Gregor; or maybe simply do the chores with my mother. I told you, my home has nothing to offer."

"Gregor," she sneered. "You don't have many friends, do you?"

"I have f-few friends," actually he didn't. "But they lived far away from my home so we rarely see each other. Only on particular events or visits, then we play together."

"That's just sad," she frowned. "Do your family and friends not have a pigeon to message each other?"

"Pigeon? No. The form of communication we use around Westerland is mostly by land, like hiring a messenger."

"Oh, messenger takes too long to work. I prefer pigeon. Pigeon is most useful for long distance," she told him. Then, she called. "Sandor?"

"Yes, Wina?"

"Me and Grayson might send you a pigeon sooner or later. You better be prepared for any bird dropping."

"Oh."


	5. A Reading

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Game of Thrones TV show nor the book franchise. I only own my OCs.**_

 _ **Note: Edited on 20/04/19**_

 _ **Enjoy~!**_

* * *

 **A READING**

* * *

It was one peaceful day. The sun was shining. The birds were chirping. Sandor was working. Gregor was nowhere to be seen.

After many years of fright and self-doubt, Sandor learned that all the things that troubled him, all the things that worried him; it was Gregor after all. Within just a week after he arrived home, a week without the giant horror, he felt something that he wanted; something that he needed—peace. Not only to himself, but also to his family. Mother and Father seemed more composed at home, without needing to worry about angering their first born son. They were much more quiet and relaxed; and safer.

"Mother?"

"Yes, Sandy?"

"Not Sandy, Mother," Sandor frowned even more when he heard a snort from behind him. So Ilyn have heard. "Mother, do you know where Gregor usually keep his toys?"

"Second drawer next to the book cabinet," Mother pointed out. "Dear Sandor, dear Ilyn… We will be gone to the market for an hour or two. Take care of the house, will you? And don't forget to clean up after playing."

"Of course, Mother."

By the time Lady Clegane and Lady Payne, the two mothers had gone, the two sons were already taking numerous of toys, scattered on the green grass. They were playing a tourney—no, they were trying to recreate Tourney of Harrenhal. They made the field with sticks and small rocks lining up nicely, easily altered for different contests.

"I sat down right here, with my father," Sandor told a story, moving a small wooden black dog next to a bigger black dog. He grabbed a lion, stag, wolf, dragon, and much more. "On this tent was the big houses; Lannisters, Baratheons, Starks, Tyrells, Arryns, Whents—King Aerys II sat in the middle of all of them with a golden crown on his head." he added a small ring on top of the dragon's head.

"And where was your brother?" Ilyn asked.

"My brother…" Sandor grabbed another black dog, the biggest one he had, and placed it right behind the lion. "Somewhere over here. He's a squire of Lord Tywin, so I assume he would be nearby. I rarely saw him during the tourney."

"I see… so what happened during the tourney? The joust?"

"The final came down to Ser Barristan Selmy and the Young Dragon Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, who came as the mystery knight. Now, I am Ser Barristan," Sandor gave Ilyn a knight and a horse as Sandor then prepared another knight and horse for himself. "You are the prince. Are you ready, Prince?"

The sound of a heavy and raspy imperfect trumpet came from Ilyn's mouth, but they didn't care about the little mistakes. As soon as the sound echoed, Ilyn and Sandor charged their horses into one another, while Sandor kept the story going. When their joust spears clashed, Sandor let go of his knight to fall over to the grass while Ilyn's began strutting around the field, emerging as the winner.

"I won! I won! I won!" Ilyn shrieked and threw his body to the grass, spreading his arms and legs opened. "I won the gol—uck! Sandor."

Just so Sandor tore up a grasp of grass and threw it right on Ilyn's happy face and opened mouth. Ilyn frantically choked up and sat up straight, spitting all the grass out. "I hate you, _Sandy_."

"Hey!"

 **…**

House Payne was only visiting briefly. After the two family had dinner together, Paynes bid farewell and left.

Sandor was sitting quietly near the fireplace. He was cleaning and polishing the toys he just previously played. They were dirty of dust, dirt, and pieces of grass stuck on them—a condition that Gregor wouldn't enjoy seeing. The look of Gregor's face, Sandor could have already imagine it. He could already feel it—even when Gregor was miles away.

No, actually it wasn't Gregor's toys at the first place. It was Sandor's; all of them. Just so happened that Gregor borrowed one day and he never returned. And Sandor didn't feel like asking for him to return them. The look of Gregor's face, Sandor could have already imagine it. He could already feel it—even when Gregor was miles away.

Thus, Sandor was cleaning and polishing Gregor _'s_ toys. His hands moved to wipe any stain, one piece at the time.

 _A lion on a rampant – the roar of a Lannister._

 _A stag with big and sharp antlers – the fury of a Baratheon_

 _A dragon opening its mouth to charge – the fire of a Targaryen_

 _A white falcon, wings spread wide – the honorable of an Arryn_

 _A direwolf, head up high – the wise of a Stark_

 _A rose with thorns around it – the conserved of a Tyrell_

 _A big black snarling dog – some Lannister's cunt_

A thought came in. Sandor took a good trip to the past when he learned of the word from Grayson. Grayson had taught him everything, really. And Sandor couldn't be happier to have met him. He was a great person and a better friend, helping him with everything during the tourney the other days. He wondered where he was now…

Suddenly a short cunning smile carved into his mouth. As if something came up to his little mind, bursting. Immediately Sandor left and hurried to his father's room.

"Father—father, I am sorry to disturb you. Can I come in?"

"Why, of course!" Lord Clegane ushered him in. "What is it that you need, boy?"

"Do you have _Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms_?"

"The book? Why suddenly interested in reading, son?"

"I-I dunno. I kind of wanted to. A read before bed."

"Alright. Third drawer of the board, there. Yes. There you have it."

"Thank you, Father!"

Immediately Sandor left and hurried back to his room. Sitting down on his bed, he began flipping pages, looking for a particular reading he liked to spend time on.

 _ **Noble Houses of the South.**_

 _It is a thick book. I should read books more so my fingers aren't this numb of flipping these thin parchment. I hope I don't make a tear._

 _Ah-ha!_

 _ **House Hornscout of the Reach**_

 _ **Seat:**_

 _ **Castle of Steep Stone**_

 _ **Title:**_

 _ **Lord of Steep Stone**_

 _ **Sigil:**_

 _ **A bow wielding three arrows over a red shield on a green field**_

 _ **Words:**_

 _ **Let loose our sharp wit**_

 _ **With Lord Harlen Tyrell as protector of the South, he renounced a birth of a loyal hunter by the name of Graysen. Graysen the Huntsman was more than just a huntsman. A ferocious mercenary with such talent of drawing enemies' blood. Experienced and skillful, Graysen took archery into another level of artwork. Legends said he could draw one hundred arrows for one hundred enemy's head. His unquestionable skill in fighting and mastery in weapons earned him an honor for himself. Soon, Graysen the Huntsman became Graysen of House Hornscout, and House Hornscout became one fierce house to protect from any harms.**_

At the corner bottom of the article, Sandor looked through the house sigil, his fingers following smoothly to the outline of the house symbol of a bow and three arrows. His eyes followed to the next page of a detail of a castle, undoubtedly Castle of Steep Stone. For a first glance, the place didn't resemble any castle he had seen. Steep Stone was more likely to be a manor rather than a castle. But it was located in the high ground near of a huge local village. Surrounding it were small houses of locals as well as tremendous amount of field nearby, with stone bridges connecting the patch of lands between River Mander. With the village and the farms to protect, stood the tallest of buildings. Three huge stone watchtowers, watching over the area.

One was standing right in the middle of the farmland, with a small path to pass to. _**Tower Nina.**_

The biggest one stood tall near the shore of Mander. Attached to it was a huge wooden wheel running across the flowing river, working as a huge watermill. _**Tower Hutt.**_

The last one stood the tallest amongst the rest, right behind the manor, as part of the manor itself, watching over whatever lies behind. Probably another patch of fields and crops. _**Tower Gray.**_

Each with different characteristic for different functions. But one thing would always stay the same; flags of Hornscout sigil waved gloriously all over the tower. And, as part of the illustration in the book, some scouting men on top of the tower armed with bow and arrow. _The Trunks_ , Sandor thought, his eyes glistening as he scanned down the drawing of where Grayson and Winona lived.

As Sandor read more about the history of the noble house, as well as some great stories behind it, it gave him a perfect idea of what he'd wanted to do; the answer to why he read the book at the first place.

Now with a small knife on his right hand and a piece of a wood, he began carving some lines and patters, creating a shape of a bow wielding three arrows.

Sandor trained, all by himself. Not that it mattered to him, of course. It made him more focus, more discipline, more confident. Right now he was swinging his wooden sword across the field. His movement were like a war dance. His movement was precise. Cutting through air with such calm yet strength performance. He was getting the hang of it.

At the corner of his eyes he saw some armored bloke arrived and talking to his father. Probably a summoning from the Lannister. It didn't matter. Sandor's mind easily came off it.

 _I wonder what is Gregor doing right now in King's Landing?_ His mind suddenly came for another thoughts.

"Sandor! Come here, Son!"

Sandor turned around to see his father waving from a distance, calling upon him. He rushed to the porch of his house immediately.

"Sandor, this might surprises you more that it surprises me," his father chirped. "But you, my boy, just got a letter."

"A letter? From who, father?"

"I have no idea. It doesn't have a seal stamp, or something. But the messenger said to give it to Lord Sandor Clegane," his father said. "Can I read it first, Sandor? Just to be sure?"

Sandor shrugged. "Yes, you can."

Sandor watched as his father untied the strings to keep the rolled parchment in place. He then unrolled and opened began reading.

"Oh, Lannister sigil!" his father said as he continued to follow the lines on the parchment. "You have a letter from the Lannisters"

"Father, I don't think Lord Tywin would want to deliver a message—any message to me."

"Oh nonono—it's not Tywin. It's his son, Jaime, the young Kingsguard."

"Jaime Lannister?" Sandor's eyes widened. "Is it something important?"

"It's something interesting, I notice. Would you like to read?" his father offered. When Sandor nodded, he gave the parchment to him. His father confronted. "I noticed that you talked a little with him during the march to Harrenhal back in the day. Maybe he wanted to talk again—very well, go ahead and read. I'll be outside."

Sandor nodded to his father and shift his head down to read the piece of parchment from the young lion. _Hm, interesting_.

It seemed that his father was right. Jaime was greeting him, through a letter.

On the letter, Jaime told him how live was going in King's Landing, being the new member of Kingsguard. It was oddly satisfying. Although he most enjoying when King Aerys was fast sleeping. Jaime told that he also met with Ser Barristan Selmy again, as he was a senior member of Kingsguard. They met and it felt like reminiscing the old days, he wrote.

He also wrote, with Tywin being the Hand of King, Gregor felt like he was in charge of pretty much anything. It was getting annoying and getting out of hand. Gregor even dared to challenge the young lion himself. Gregor lost in a practice duel, Jaime wrote, and that only made everything worse. Gregor started to put up tantrum on the servant, the maid, everyone. By the looks of it, Gregor wasn't Tywin's squire anymore. He was his unleashed beast.

Reading all the complaint from Jaime was somewhat sad yes also understanding, and quite funny as well.

It was not usual for the son of Lord Lannister sending a messenger to give a vassal boy a letter of how his day went.

In terms of letter, Sandor was already in his room, writing back to Jaime.


	6. Another Reading

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Game of Thrones TV show nor the book franchise. I only own my OCs.**_

 _ **Enjoy!**_

* * *

 **ANOTHER READING**

* * *

It was few weeks afterwards and Sandor found himself reading another letter from Jaime. What once Sandor thought to be one time letter, suddenly turned into real back and forth discussion with the young lion. Perhaps Jaime was feeling lonely there on his new job. It was weird at first, to write for Jaime, but after a while Sandor was getting used to it. It was a good routine to clear his mind, to say what he wanted to say without someone to judge—it was a good thing to keep him from being alone all the time.

As the time passed by, other than the friendly letters, Sandor was slowly feeling a little lonely, a bit out of place. A little bored as well. All he did was either training or tending the livestock, or perhaps his least favorite, cleaning the house.

…

Was it wrong to say that Sandor missed Gregor?

Not that Sandor was grateful that he was away for many months to come. Oh dear Gods, he was, very. But a little mind of him thought that it would be better, just a tiny bit, to have Gregor with him. Not the assault, no. Just the overall presence of his. That feeling that made Sandor wanted to hide away, or to climb the tallest tree—a feeling to flee. With Gregor around, Sandor was more meaningful, because he had a purpose not to be caught by the giant brother.

…

 _What did I just think of?_

Sandor sighed and looked out of the gap of the wooden window into the dark sky above. Instantly he yawned. Alas, it was late evening. Maybe he needed some sleep so that he would stop thinking about Gregor. Sandor sighed once more and pulled the blanket closer to him. Sandor relaxed his body and slowly closed his eyes.

Sandor decided to reply to another Jaime Lannister's letter the following day. Mostly about some prayer of the gods and an advice for Jaime to deal with Gregor, in which he couldn't give much anyway.

As his father had told him earlier that morning, that he was to go to Casterly Rock for another business to attend, Sandor decided to ask if his father could deliver the message to a messenger from the bigger city.

His father, Lord Clegane was a knight, knighted by Lord Tytos Lannister, a great soldier on the field as well, but never fond to violence and battles of such. Old age, perhaps? No one could have known what was in the old man's head, but he certainly didn't want to be involved in anything politics or military anymore. Perhaps it was one of the reason he declined the position of Kingsguard after The War of Ninepenny Kings.

Instead he was summoned as head of security around the Clegane's Keep, and stayed at home, taking care of his beloved wife and his precious two sons to be his heir.

"Sandor?"

"Yes Mother?" Sandor's came to the kitchen where his mother was. "Can I help you with anything?"

"My dear son, could you please prepare a fire on the pit? The day is very windy and it would be getting cold by the end of the day."

"Sure, Mother." Sandor did as told, taking a piece of a flint and a steel nearby, and began rubbing it onto each other until some sparks lightened, falling down to the dried bush. Sandor watched as the sparks slowly built up smokes, red small flames began dancing along the wind. Sandor had to close the lid of the metal pit, to prevent the fire dying. The fire slowly grew big, giving enough warmth for his body.

For now.

…

On a very sunny day, Sandor was back at the stables when he saw an old bloke rode the pathway to his keep. _The messenger_ , he thought as he put the last stack of hay into the feeding pot. Closing the stable door tight, he casually walked up to his stoned house.

"Mother, someone's coming." Sandor said, pointing to the messenger getting closer.

"Ah, must be another letter from a dear friend of yours?" his mother suggested.

"I don't think we are friends, Mother," Sandor answered, pointing out that they were never really declared as one. "He was only writing because he was bored and didn't have someone to talk through."

"If so, then it is a good chance to be friends with him," when she saw Sandor shrugging, she couldn't help but smiled. "Alright, dear son, go greet the messenger."

Sandor nodded eagerly and got out of the house to receive the letter from the Lannister boy.

Although, he was rather mistaken, when the messenger didn't give him any letter. Instead it was a package of a wooden cage.

Of a pigeon.

"A pigeon, my lord?" Sandor politely asked. "A pigeon for me?"

"Why, is this Clegane's Keep?" he asked harshly.

"Yes, my lord."

"And you are Sandor Clegane?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Then it is delivered to you." Abruptly the messenger shoved the cage right to Sandor to hold, causing the bird inside jumped and flock its wing for self-protection.

Sandor widened at the sudden and rather harsh act, now worried that the bird was attempting to fly out. When the pigeon stopped and perched itself on a thin branch placed inside the cage, he turned back to the messenger. "Wait, my lord, don't you have a letter from King's Landing?"

"Boy, I am not from King's Landing. Now leave me be. I have more important things to deliver."

As the messenger slowly rode to another direction, Sandor crouched down to have a better look of this cage of a pigeon he got. Most of the feathers were gray, darker on the head and neck but blended to lighter by the end of its short tail. The pigeon was dominantly gray, but there was a hint of green tainted on the nape of its neck. And very contrast beady yellow eyes, glaring at pretty much anything.

At a closer inspection, there was something strapped onto its body, resembling a small thin pouch that looked bulked because something was inside it. After taking the bird out of the cage, Sandor carefully untied the laces of the pouch, much to pigeon's discomfort as it started to flap its wings to get rid of him, he finally was able to take out what appeared to be folded parchments.

 _ **Clegane's Keep - Sandor of House Clegane**_ written roughly on the parchment. That was it. No sigil, no seal stamp, no symbol, no nothing. And the shape of the writing was different. It was sloppy. Some ink smudges could be seen on some spot on the paper. This was not Jaime. This was not from a noble Lannister. The old man told him he wasn't from King's Landing. Not knowing what to expect, Sandor slowly unfolded the mystery.

 _ **Hello Sandor! It is I, Grayson, finally able to write to you. I'm sorry that you have to wait quite some time for this pigeon to be delivered. I did try another approach of hiring a specific messenger, as Wina informed me that it was a common communication in Westerland. Unfortunately I've never received a reply from you, so I assume that messenger didn't deliver the letter properly. And now he ran off. I have paid him, what a cunt. So I have decided to stick with pigeon instead.**_

 _ **How are you going, good friend? I hope you are doing well, as well as your family. I hoped you don't mind me sending a letter to you every now and then, because I'd like to reach out to my tourney partner once in a while. I'd like to know what my friend is doing on the other side of this conversation. I'd like to know what you been up to yesterday, tomorrow, or nights later. I'd like to keep in touch with your life, wherever you are. Wina told me that she already warned you about it. So here I start.**_

 _ **I've been meaning to ask, how is Gregor been treating you? Ever since I saw what he did to you, I decided to put him on the list of people I dislike. Oh that bloody big oaf, I hope he doesn't trouble you enough. If so just tell me and Wina might just draw an arrow from Steep Stone and stick it on his fat head. Oh, speaking of, Wina said hello!**_

 _ **I am looking forward to hear from you, dear Sandor.**_

 _ **I almost forgot. If you are not familiar with how the pigeon works, all you need to do is to write a letter, slip it into the little pocket attached and let him be flying. No worries of lost, pigeon is a smart bird and always comes home to his original nest, which is here in Steep Stone. That's why I'm sending Ser Yellowshite to your home first. My apology, but Wina insisted on giving him a name, so I named him Ser Yellowshite. I reckon you need to let Yellowshite get used to your home for three nights at least, before you send him back to us. But do not fly him in the dark. He is a small prey still. He also likes to eat corns or berries, or grain is also fine.**_

 _ **All prayers upon you, Seven blessings for House Clegane**_

 _ **The letter is sent from Castle Steep Stone, the current residence of Lord Grayson of House Hornscout.**_

And from that moment on, Sandor knew that his life in the future would be much, much better

 **...**

 _ **Castle Steep Stone - Grayson of House Hornscout**_

 _ **For the Gods, Grayson, I cannot believe that you wrote me a letter! You don't know how happy I was when I received Ser Yellowshite. I think I already know why you named him Ser Yellowshite, up close and personal. It is true that Wina have warned me about your future letters along with some bird droppings that will come with them. But other than that I love him already. I would definitely be taking care of him a lot.**_

 _ **Here in Clegane's Keep, I am doing quite alright. Not much to take or lose. Oh, I have to mention that Gregor is not bothering me at the moment. In fact, he is not home with me. He is far away in King's Landing, serving as Lord Hand Tywin Lannister's squire. Although I am very curious on how confident is Wina to be able to snipe Gregor's head from thousands of miles away. If she wants to try anything, just aims lower. Not the head. Perhaps arms or legs. He is still my brother, after all.**_

 _ **I found something about your family, Grayson. One day, I was reading the history of House Hornscout. I was just realizing that you are named after Graysen the Great Huntsman of the South. Or perhaps, you and Wina are named after two of the Tower of The Trunks. Tower Gray and Tower Nina. I wonder again, do you have a brother or a sibling named after Tower Hutt?**_

 _ **I don't have much to tell to, as honest as I could be. But I would happy to keep writing to you, anything. I really hope that Ser Yellowshite is as smart as you believe in him. I want this to go on forever.**_

 _ **All prayers upon you, Seven blessings for House Hornscout**_

 _ **The letter is sent from Clegane's Keep, the current residence of Lord Sandor of House Clegane.**_

Sandor read the whole parchment again, making sure that everything that he wanted to say was already written. He whistled, and quickly Ser Yellowshite flew by from his bed and landed on top the wooden cabinet, already poking a bowl mixed of corns and grains. Sandor came over to him, gently rubbing a finger along the head. Yellow jerked, but going back eating reluctantly. Sandor folded the parchment and tugged it into the thin socket of the pouch, securing it with a strong thin rope tied.

"Come on. Let's get you back home," once the bird was done eating, Sandor carefully grabbed him and went to the window. "Don't disappoint me, little bird."

Sandor threw him to the air. Yellow immediately spanned his wings and flew across the field to where it nestled.


	7. A Squire

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Game of Thrones TV show nor the book franchise. I only own my OCs.**_

 _ **Author's Note: Sorry that I have to put some A/N to begin the chapter, but I feel this is necessary.**_

 _ **It's been some time since I continue this story and when I started to write again, I had too many ideas. One, I had this idea of making this story into three parts as we follow the journey of my little Sandor. Thus, I decided to change the story - not completely; just a slight change of the titles and the summary. The new title would be**_

Book 1: A Start to Live

 _ **Also, I've edited and revised some of the previous chapters to sync better for the upcoming chapters. Small edit and revision, altohugh I suggest to re-read some, it'll be fun to catch on what you might have remembered...**_

 _ **OH! And also, season finale is finally coming!**_ _ **Enjoy that!**_

 _ **And enjoy this!**_

* * *

 **A SQUIRE**

* * *

Suddenly a gush of wind blew surprisingly strong out of nowhere. It was so strong, the field of green started to dance, with the soothing of grass rubbing grass faintly shrilled. The branches of trees started to swing along the flow. At a glance, the leaves found themselves being unpluck and joined freely with the void. Even the birds had decided to hide their wings. The wind perhaps was too strong for an afternoon flight; not a single flock were seen flying around the horizon.

Nevertheless of the unpleasant weather, a little boy, Grayson was his name, stood his ground; his stance as strong. Arms in a good posture, eyes stabbed right at the center of the target. Another gush of wind blew, causing loose tunic shirt slightly opened and the cold stung his body, but still not a muscle twitched.

"Grayson, for how long are you going to hold it?" Wina sighed, watching the boy remained unmoving. "Just release your fingers and let the Gods decide."

"Shh Wina!"

Wina frowned. "Do not shush me, Grayson."

"Stop. You're ruining my concentration," he barked. "I can do this. I just need you to be quiet."

Wina pouted and folded her arm. It began about an hour ago where she spotted Grayson alone by the field. At then she decided to bring him some snacks and dropped by. Now she was stuck waiting for him. At the moment Grayson was nocking a set of two arrows on his bow. Grayson was not a small boy, but his bow was definitely too big for his posture. How he was holding and pulling the string with such force causing his arms and fingers awkwardly tensed. It looked painful, but he somehow found his comfort.

Twenty five yards from the line he was standing, a wooden crate height around a foot with his target. On the top of the crate, placed two fresh red apples, size no more than a fist of a hand.

Before Wina could let out another hurry, Grayson finally let go of the two arrows already drawn onto the string of his bow. A faint stabbing sound followed. He immediately went running to the table to finally be able to see what he was waiting for. Wina watched in anticipation, waiting for Grayson to come back. Suddenly, she heard a scream and saw an apple flew to wherever he just threw.

"Grayson, how was it?" Wina asked once Grayson returned. "How did you do?"

"Dreadful. Barely hitting anything," Grayson grunt. "I am so done with this bullshit."

"Grayson, don't speak like that – but you hit something, right? What did you hit?"

"No!" he yelled. "I don't even know where the fucking arrows have gone. Happy now?!"

Wina gaped, definitely wasn't so keen with sudden attitude oh the older brother. "Don't be mean. I didn't do anything wrong."

Grayson grunted and spoke some inaudible words, which she assumed was curses. She was about to tell she wasn't very happy with his attitude but decided to pursed her lips and be quiet. Instead she watched the young boy gathered bunch of apples and went to placed them on the crate. Watching carefully, Wina could tell something was bothering him.

After some arrows and groans, Grayson decided to put an end of his own torture and sat down next to Wina. Body was heaving.

"Are you alright, Grayson?" Wina asked, a hint of worry lingered.

"No shit I am alright." So he wasn't.

Wina looked around, feeling suddenly uneasy. "Ehm, is something bothering you?"

Grayson didn't reply for quite some time and Wina decided not to push him.

Finally, he managed to let out a deep heavy breath and spoke. "Before I was sent home by Lord Mace, there was a trial held by him. Nothing serious, just series of tests to see how I develop as part of the internship as squire. The trial was alright," Grayson told her. "During the weapon test, where I was supposed to shoot targets from quite amount of distance, I missed by a bunch. That was possibly the only error in my trial."

"But did you pass as a whole?"

"To make up to that, I did fairly well in the other tests. I think he was very pleased with my hand-to-hand combat and swordsmanship; despite the error in archery, Lord Mace granted me the position to be continued."

"That's good then, isn't it? You don't have to worry about being dismissed from the squire position."

"Lord Mace guaranteed my place is secured and I will still serve him until the age of knighthood."

Wina had hear of the trial periodically done to assess if a squire was progressing or not. From what she knew, it derived into several part of tests, which included weapons, physical combats, and physical abilities as well. All the test must be passed to a standard that the lords saw fit. If not, there would be a great chance of being stripped off from a squire. So hearing the result of Grayson's trial was somewhat relieving to her.

"Lord Mace already knows accuracy isn't your strongest point. Besides, you never taken interest in bow and arrow anyway," Wina shrugged. "That's why you are very well trained in short-range fighting."

"Yes, true of that."

"You are the greatest swordsman the world have ever seen."

"Oh shut up. You're bluffing."

"I am serious! I've seen how you trained, Grayson. I am serious!" Wina exclaimed and she saw Grayson's lips twitched at the corner of her eyes. He was getting better. She turned lightly to him. "So, what makes you so angry, Grayson?"

Wina had expected him to throw tantrum again. But this time he just sighed and leaned back on his arms. "Some young soldiers approached me and jeered about my archery skill. Apparently the news of me failing was spread amongst the party. They began calling me names and insulted me," Grayson recalled. "I didn't care at first, but then they began mentioning our family with it. 'A Hornscout with no skill?', 'You can't shoot an arrow properly? Might as well be dead'; stuff like that. I remembered one of them said 'Are you really a Hornscout or are you just some burden of a bastard?'."

Wina frowned. "You are not a bastard, Grayson. You are a true-born."

"I know that! It's just, stuff like that got me thinking… what if I am not good enough for them? What if I can't live to their expectation? In this world, names and titles are everything. Future heir of Steep Stone and I can't uphold our family. Heir my ass."

"Grayson, don't think of that, please," Wina pleaded. "You are a Hornscout and you are always will be a Hornscout," she heard a grunt and she knew he didn't believe her. She hopped down from the crate she was sitting on and stood in front of him. "Maybe it was their expectation that is so little. I don't mind having Lord Hornscout, the Master of Swords."

"Tch."

"No, really. If you think about it, you could be a start on something grand. If Graysen then was known for his archery skill, Grayson now will be known to draw a thousand dancing swords. And then our house shall be known as the master of weapons!"

"A thousand dancing swords?"

"I-it's an expression. I mean, if you swing your two swords fast enough, it would look like you are drawing thousands of swords–"

"You don't need to explain. I understand your point," Grayson couldn't help to chuckle on her innocence. "So, Grayson and his Dancing Sword, huh?"

"Huh?"

"Tch, nevermind," Grayson grinned and ruffled her red wild hair. "You shall brush your hair more often. It is always messy."

"I did brush it this morning!"

"Yea, sure," Grayson finally stood up and gathered some scattered arrows around him, dust the metal end, as well as brushed down the fur on the other end, before cased them into the quivers. "Help me with the apples would you Wina?"

Reluctantly Wina nodded and fetched a basket of red apples. The two siblings walked silently that afternoon. At the corner of his eyes he could see Wina was eyeing right at him. When he turned to her, she looked elsewhere, trying to go unnoticed. But he noticed very distinctly that she wanted to say something.

"Say it, Wina."

"Eh, ehm," Wina stammered and blushing, knowing that she was caught. "No, I didn't want so say anything."

"You sure?"

"Y-yeah," Wina nodded but unsure. Suddenly she stammered. "You are my brother. You are very important to me, Grayson. And I do not want you to belittle yourself."

Grayson turned to his sister who looked red as a cooked shrimp, failed to hold a proud grin on his face. Oh his sweet little sister he loved so much.

"A-also, technically you are not the heir yet. Uncle Frank has two sons, Erac and Aaren. Not to mention our father is only his younger brother. That means you are like the fourth in line for the heir of Steep Stone." she finished.

Grayson couldn't help to roll his eyes. Oh his sweet little sister.

 **…**

"Grayson, I've been meaning to ask."

"Out with it, Wina?"

"When are you returning to Highgarden? And how come are you not summoned already?"

"Trying to get rid of me, aye?" Grayson taunted and she immediately stammered an apology, explaining her intention, which he already knew. He waved her off. "I am not sure when I shall be going. It's been few weeks that Lady Alerie is now heavily pregnant and heavily sick. So Lord Mace sent me home instead."

"I thought you were supposed to their squire. To help the family."

"I did. But I guess I wasn't very helpful when it comes to maternity problem. Can't you imagine a boy of ten doing back massages to Lady Alerie?"

Wina's eyes bored into his for a moment of disbelief. "Grayson! You don't say things like that!"

"Calm down. I was only joking."

"Well you must not make jokes like that," Wina scowled at the lack of respect he showed to the noble lady. "I still don't know why Lord Mace even had a slight thought to choose you as his squire."

"You should not question his choice, sister. Lord Mace is a humble man and makes humble decision for all of us."

"That's not what I meant," Wina frowned. "I would never question his motive. It's you I doubt."

Grayson's laughed ended with a satisfaction grin as her sister stomped passed him to go elsewhere.

But Grayson couldn't help but to agree with her. For an odd reason, Lord Mace had took him under his care as a squire. That brought joy to his father, and the whole family of Hornscout, but to this day it still a random confusion for him.

One day during a noble visit to Steep Stone, Lord Mace caught the little Loras spying a young boy in the middle of the training field. Grayson, the young boy, was balancing on a thin, fragile looking log with one foot while the other leg was raised backward. Bending down, he spread his arms opened, each hands were holding a longsword which possibly weighted as heavy as he was; could be heavier. Lord Mace watched in anticipation for the boy to finally drop the swords, or jump off the log, or fall. But after a good hour, Grayson stilled. Little Loras decided to be brave and came out from the corner of the wall and called on him. Lord Mace watched as Grayson took his son with his training – wooden swords now being used.

Lord Mace was aware of the boy's talent in the art of swordfight. It was shown by how he held and swung the sword, no doubt the boy was highly potential to be a great swordsman. Lord Mace was utterly surprised however when Grayson started to lecture Loras about stances and swords patiently and entertainingly. It is shown by the little Loras eagerly enjoying the whole practice. So many people can swing a sword, but not many people can share the same experience as an act of kindness. And boy of ten did just that.

Within the next days, Grayson was summoned to serve as Lord Mace's squire.

Grayson was very much clueless of the whole ordeal. He had never thought he would be a squire at such a young age. He was thinking of applying as Ser Arthur Dayne's squire when he turn at least fifteen, where he had enough skill and knowledge to actually help in battle. However, Squiring Lord Mace was very different from what he thought, what he had been told. From what his father told him, and his older acquaintance, being a squire was a hardwork on its daily basis. From a traveling companion to extra hand for cleaning chores, a squire was meant to serve the lord. With Lord Mace, however, he was freed to choose anything to be done. Training, hunting, reading, napping; it was Grayson serving himself with the help of Lord Mace, as long as Grayson was present when he needed him, mostly for traveling accommodation and political planning.

One thing Grayson learned about Lord Mace; that Lord Mace himself wasn't quite the man of combat. He was more of a diplomat, bringing peace and justice from behind his desk and papers. That was one thing Grayson learned that he found it very odd yet interesting at the same time, diplomacy. Often times Grayson was present during council meetings, talking about future strategies, beneficial trading, and contingency planning. Diplomacy could be said as the most cowardly act by of those who thirst for blood, but the thing was social statement was actually the most powerful source that would never blunt end.

Nevertheless, Grayson still learned how to fight. And Lord Mace would still keep an eye on his combat technicality. Sometimes he supervised, giving advices on how to be better in battle, but training was carried out by his high soldiers to make sure Grayson was battle-ready.

And now many months later, Grayson was slowly growing strong to be the best knight drawing thousand swords.


End file.
